Flaming Greens
by OnyxDrake
Summary: How has Pernese society changed since Thread has become but a distant memory? Four young lives are drawn together, in spite of vastly different backgrounds.
1. Jarraden

Outside, the heat shimmered, melting the overbright view that Jarraden had of the path leading down to the bridge in scintillating waves

**A/N:** This story is set many Turns in the future, after the events described in _All the Weyrs of Pern_. Pernese society has expanded and diversified, hence my creation of "new" trades and crafts. Please note UK English, _not_ Americanese.

X

Outside, the heat shimmered, melting the overbright view that Jarraden had of the path leading down to the bridge in scintillating waves. Not a single drop of wind broke the oppressive tropical heat and he wished that the two masters would finish their conversation so that he could concentrate on inputting the yellowed pages next to his keyboard.

Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, dampening the loose tunic that he wore over his sawn-off trousers. No one bothered with shoes in this heat and Jarraden was grateful for the fact that he'd asked Dorrigan to plait his hair back in a tight queue this morning. His fingers left damp marks on the ancient paper, reminding him of the importance of his task but his concentration strayed to the two masters' banter.

Master Archivist Lenedal and Masterharper Targullan shared glasses of iced redfruit juice in the shade of the veranda, ostensibly discussing the retrieval of some old musical scores from the archives for an upcoming Gather but, in truth, the pair argued about their latest fishing exploits.

Jarraden tutted quietly, sipping his own juice, enjoying the icy perspiration that beaded his cup. A brown dragon from Shipwreck Weyr had flown in their weekly allotment of ice this morning and Headwoman Harleen had celebrated the occasion by arranging this midmorning treat for the entire population of Redfin Seahold.

Life was good. Jarraden couldn't complain, in spite of the ever-present heat and humidity of the central Eastern Ring Islands. It had been such a long time since he'd lived in a more temperate climate, he could hardly remember what a real winter felt like; where the air didn't feel like fragrant syrup every time he inhaled.

He forced his eyes back to the pages he had to input. To think that three-hundred Turns ago, a certain Master Archivist Tosden had filed these pages, written in a cramped hand belonging to one Master Merchant Yadres. He imagined Yadres as a man deep in his fifties when he wrote about his experiences sailing the outlying islands. Now it was up to Jarraden to decipher the letters so that they could be preserved for all of Pern, _if_ he could make out some of the much-faded ink.

… _the people of the Prollig Seahold have the quaint custom of painting a pair of eyes on the front of the hulls of their fishing skiffs. Having long lived in isolation, due to the remote situation of their island home, they …_

The bugle of a dragon, coming out from _between_, shattered Jarraden's tenuous concentration. Both masters paused in their boasting to look up, although from where they sat beneath the vine-bedecked beams, there was nought they would see through the glossy green leaves.

"Eh, what's this?" Lenedal said. "Didn't know that there were any visits scheduled for today. I wonder what the occasion is."

"Did hear mention that they'd be Searching soon," replied Targullan. "Let me have a look."

The old man groaned as he stood up, wincing when he stepped into the sun. He shielded his eyes against the glare. "Yup, it's a green winging in. Thought they were only coming the day before the Gather. Must have misread the message."

Lenedal helped the old harper back to his seat. "They nabbed two apprentices off Kolman six Turns back. He was not pleased."

"I can well imagine," Targullan laughed with a dry chuckle. "Didn't the one lad…"

"Came back, yes. He's now a journeyman, last I heard he was out near…"

The old men fell back into their discussion. Jarraden had only arrived here five Turns previously. He had never experienced a Search before. Dragonmen had never bothered with the island he'd spent part of his childhood on during the storm season. It was so small it didn't have a name. Oh, he'd heard stories, all right, but that was all they were, stories. He'd filled his head with stories since one of the journeymen harpers had convinced his parents that he'd be better off learning a trade at a larger hold than aboard a fishing fleet.

One less mouth to feed and one less dreamer to deal with had suited his father well. Master Fisherman Oberden had packed Jarraden off with Journeyman Harper Timon that very same afternoon, aboard a merchant vessel en route to Redfin Seahold; here he'd been since.

Jarraden frowned in concentration. The page had smudged here. It looked like a _klah_ stain although he couldn't be sure.

… _have developed queer customs that border on the superstitious traditions that I have encountered while conducting research in the Archives, related to the history of the original settlers. _

Jarraden sat back, wondering whether any of the remains of Prollig would ever be found, should a team of archivists be allowed to embark on a field excursion. Other papers he'd inputted referred to a volcanic eruption that had rained down layers of ash, spewing poisonous gases. Many of Prollig's inhabitants had been buried, no doubt overwhelmed by the noxious fumes. The few who escaped bearing these ill tidings had been absorbed into the assorted fleets and seaholds willing to take on the islanders. Their curious traditions were lost in time, save for these few remnants he had in his possession. Sometimes the responsibility of his position as an apprentice archivist threatened to overwhelm him. If he did not record events correctly, the truth may be lost to future generations.

Jarraden imagined what that night of fire, debris and smoke must have been like, how mothers would have clutched their children to their breasts and run through the streets, how canines would have barked and men shouted out warnings. Did they have runner-beasts on the island? He'd found no record of this. They'd lived in a time when there had been much unrest on the northern continent, with the failure of Fort Weyr _and_ High Reaches due to a virulent plague…

A runner, one of the orphan lads, nattered at the door, the child's high-pitched voice intruding on Jarraden's musings.

"Good day, masters. Harleen sent me to ask if you could ask if Jarraden could come across to the Arbour. There's a dragonwoman here on Search from Shipwreck Weyr."

A silence descended. Jarraden's blood turned to ice and he looked up from his work to see Targullen give Lenedal a meaningful look, before coughing into his hand. The fosterling shifted from foot to foot, his eyes darting from the master archivist to the masterharper.

"I see," said Lenendal, trying not to display his discomfort. "Well, run along. Tell Harleen that Jarraden will be there shortly."

The boy scampered off, next door towards the Healer Hall.

"I suppose you should be grateful that they're going to have everyone display their apprentices like Gather day goods," gestured Targullen, stroking at his whiskers.

Lenendal shrugged, then peered back into the dark recesses of their hall. "Don't just sit there gaping, Jarraden. I may be sunblind but I know you've been listening in. You'd best get yourself down to the Arbour."

"Yes, master," Jarraden said, jumping to his feet.

"Come here boy."

Jarraden approached the two masters, his heart hammering with possibilities. This was something he'd never dreamt of, an event worthy of the Archives that only ever happened to other people. A dragon! What if the dragon chose _him_? The beasts had grown rare enough as it was, since Thread became but a distant legend.

"What do you think?" Lenedal asked his friend.

Targullan made a great show of rubbing is chin, glaring at Jarraden from beneath his bushy white brows. "He'd make a better harper than rider. You should let me teach him the gitar and set him to learning four-part harmony, I think once his voice is settled, he'll have a pleasant, reedy tenor."

"Tsk!" Lenedal said, waving away Targullan's comment. "You're still sore about that apprentice of yours who came over to my hall. Jarraden, please do us all the favour and wash your hands and face, at the very least. Then come back here as soon as they're done."

"What if I am chosen?"

"_If_ you are…" Lenedal. "Let's hope not. There are more than fifty young people here who are of the correct age. If we're lucky, perhaps two will be found who are both suitable _and_ willing. Don't get your hopes up. Good apprentices like you are worth more than their weight in marks."

"I won't, master."

"Well, then, run along then and while you're at it, ask Harleen if she can have one of the drudges send up some more of that redfruit juice for two masters in their dotage."


	2. Kesbara

A pod of dolphins squealed and plunged ahead of The Windward Lass, a longship of Far Western Continent design

**Disclaimer:** Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine, please do not use them without my permission.

X

A pod of dolphins squealed and plunged ahead of _The Windward Lass_, a longship of Far Western Continent design. Her sleek prow had been carved and gilded to represent a gold dragon, a common enough choice among the Merchant Hall families but the uncommon skill with which the wood had been fashioned spoke of the touch of a master craftsman. Thirty oars dipped into the azure water, propelling the craft between the stone arms of Redfin Seahold's breakwaters. A fair of fire lizards – some banded, some wild – chittered; dipped and banked above the square-rigged vessel, its hempen sales tightly furled, useless in these becalmed conditions.

Kesbara perched by the ship's figurehead, her fingers caressing the fine-grained hardwood, warm in the sun and glad that they were arriving before noon. She looked forward to setting foot on land.

They had been at sea for a sevenday now and she'd grown tired of salted fish, fruit preserves and ship's biscuits. There wasn't space aboard _The Windward Lass_ for a proper galley, unless it was meant for her to be as cumbersome as the Southern Continent merchant cogs. Sometimes, they'd grill fresh-caught fish on a brazier or heat water for _klah_ but all food was packed, ready to eat. Fresh fruit, meat and vegetables would be a welcome change. Kesbara felt her stomach rumbling in anticipation. A cold mug of ale would not go amiss, either.

Of course, sailing into the tropics brought the usual annoyances of the incessant heat, she still found each island they stopped at enchanting. Their meetings with familiar faces not greeted in months would provide a welcome opportunity to trade stories, as well as goods. Each port of call always brought fresh discoveries.

They never stayed longer than a day or two, but that was fine by her. As a Master Merchant's daughter, herself an apprentice to her father, she'd spent all fifteen Turns of her life at sea. Her family's blood moved with the tides, ever restless.

The light tower rose to their left as they approached, the familiar white-washed pillar with its verdigris-greened dome towering a dragon length above them. There had been many occasions where similar structures had guided her family's fleet to safety. Today, the lagoon shone a similar verdant hue as the copper-topped light tower and Kesbara had to shade her eyes against the glare of the white sand of the beach that curved from the harbour to a rocky point across the bay, where the reef ended abruptly and waves smashed against dark, basaltic rocks.

The assorted halls were almost lost in all the greenery, only a few of the peaked roofs showing. Of course Lord Holder Jossian's hall was the exception, made up of terraced structures that stepped up the mountain ahead of her. Kesbara wondered idly how much wood and stone had been hauled and shaped to create this edifice, with its wraparound verandas set in three tiers topped by an observation tower. Flowering vines bearing pale pink blossoms garlanded the building and even from this distance, she could make out tiny figures moving about in the large doorways.

Redfin Seahold was not large, but it still had much to offer. The island's chief export included salted fish, finely carved wood items, leather and the reason for their visit – rare black pearls cultivated by the island's Mariculture Hall. Ahead, frowning peaks cast their presence over the small bay and the Pearl River sliced a deep ravine through the rock where strangler trees clutched at vertiginous cliffs with pale roots. _So much greenery_, she marvelled, wondering what it would be like to live here in thatched halls that were typical of this area. _Imagine having fresh redfruit every day…_

Her musings were interrupted by the green dragon that bugled a greeting when she burst through from _between_, to circle above the bay, her emerald hide bright in the sun. Kesbara always enjoyed watching these graceful beasts, although she held no illusions of aspiring to Weyr life. Those tales belonged to the mass-printed romances she could buy by the dozen at Gathers, no doubt penned by apprentice archivists dreaming to escape their taskmasters. She had a better chance of being captain of her own longship in ten Turns' time than ever Impressing a dragon.

The dragon landed next to the Arbour, set at one side to the small Gather ground in front of the Lord's hall, where the Arboretum provided shade along the side closest to the harbour. The green landed softly on short-cropped grass, folding her wings and dipping her shoulder to help her rider disembark. From this distance, Kesbara could not tell if the rider was a man or a woman.

Perhaps she would take up her cousin's offer and invest some fire lizard eggs after all. She may even try for a bronze or a queen. She'd certainly saved enough marks over the past two seasons' trading. There was time enough for training on board when the going was good. Her father's pair had already proved their worth, flying messages from fleet to fleet and there was nothing preventing her from keeping her own.

"Kessie," her father rumbled, placing a strong hand on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing lightly.

"Yes, da," Kesbara answered, turning to smile at her father.

"Will you do me the favour of announcing our arrival to Lord Holder Jossian? You can give him this." He pressed a message roll into her hand.

"Are we staying long?" she asked, hopeful.

"A day or two, perhaps. We still need to handle a collection from Packtail Rocks and return to Shipwreck Weyr in time for the Hatching Gather, so we'll have some good opportunities for trade before the storm season starts."

Then, Baraloss' attention shifted as he shouted off orders to his crew. "Watch those oars, Jodrik! Pondra! Stand ready with the lines, stop jabbering with Justai. If I feel any thumps when we moor, I'll keel haul you. That goes for you, too, Essar."

Kesbara fell in with the rest of the crew, her well-calloused hands no stranger to the work of securing _The Windward Lass_ at the berth reserved for her. She dwarfed the pale white fishing skiffs. No other longships or cogs were to be seen. While her father greeted Harbour Master Delrossian, Kesbara nimbly leapt over the intervening gap and strolled along the grey stone pier, her legs moving with the rolling gait of someone who spent more days at sea than on land.

She breathed in deeply of the air, catching scents of sawdust from the ship crafters' hall. The sounds of the master technicians at work in their hall, reached her next. How must it be to work in such an idyllic location? The halls on the northern continent were vast, cavernous places by comparison, where apprentices swarmed to complete the tasks assigned to them by their masters and journeymen.

Once again, Kesbara was glad for the life she'd been given. Who in their right mind would want to stay stuck in one place their entire life?

Soon the causeway flowed into the Arboretum, where small avians flitted invisibly above her in the canopy and the sunlight filtered through gaps in the leaves to dance in spots upon her path, which branched from the main track to meander through the trees toward the Lord Holder's Hall. The Gather ground where the green dragon no doubt basked, was hidden to her while she climbed, although she heard an excited chatter of voices from the Arbour.

Baraloss had not given her explicit orders as to where she'd be _after_ she handed Lord Holder Jossian his message. Perhaps she should venture down to the Gather grounds to take a closer look at the green. It had been a very long time since she'd been within touching distance of a dragon. Besides, sometimes the dragonriders would share some fascinating gossip that may prove useful later.

Smiling to herself, she took the last steps to the first terrace two at a time, almost knocking over a startled gardener who carried a sapling he was evidently going to plant.

"Watch where ya goin' lass!"

"Sorry!" Kesbara danced out of his way, to enter the reception area where household staff busied themselves in an interior that was only marginally cooler than outside. It took her eyes a moment adjust from the glare outside.

A grey-haired man dressed in the pale green overtunic of the household staff greeted her and directed her further into the building, down a long passage where niches displaying miniature water features that helped to cool the air. She'd walked down these passages countless times, since she could remember, and they held no awe for her anymore, although she could imagine that a simple fisherman would no doubt feel out of place.

Although most lords would have kept their studies in a prominent room near the front, Jossian preferred the comfort of a room that opened onto a deck that enjoyed a view of the Arboretum.

Presently, the lord holder, a man well into his sixties, busied himself signing off documents and granted Kesbara a cursory nod, indicating for her to step toward his desk.

"Which longship do you hail from, apprentice?"

"Baraloss' _The Windward Lass_, my lord."

The man looked thoughtful, a small frown playing across his features.

Kesbara fidgeted. "Our trading permits are in order, sir, if that is what you're wondering."

The lord holder regarded her coolly and she could have kicked herself for speaking out of turn. "That was never in doubt, apprentice. You can place the message scroll there. Please convey the message to your captain that I shall dine with him this evening. You are dismissed."

_One day, the likes of him will offer me a seat and a drink of Benden's finest,_ Kesbara mused. _He certainly wouldn't have brushed my da off like that. Then again, the last time I saw him, Lossor was still apprenticed to da and I was just the barefoot " little lass" who was sent about running errands. Not much has changed, has it?_

Now Kesbara wore the collar of a Merchant Lord's apprentice and her hair had been knotted in a manner denoting this status. Of course the man would not recognise her as her father's daughter. He'd paid her scant attention _then_. Now she was just a lowly apprentice, and a female, at that. The man had a reputation for misogyny. Shrugging aside her annoyance, she dropped the message in the basket and retreated, her feet leading her to the Arbour and an opportunity to meet new faces. Her father would be catching up with the craftspeople no doubt. She would tell him about his dinner engagement once she'd satisfied her own curiosity about the green dragon.


	3. Vendra

**Disclaimer:** Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine, please do not use them without my permission.

X

If it hadn't been for Mistress Snippy's sudden and frantic visual, Goran would have most likely succeeded in braining Vendra with his cudgel. As it was, it was a close thing. The carved wooden weapon whistled past Vendra's ear as he shifted sideways, just in time.

His heart beat double-time and Vendra spun around to meet his assailant, reacting on instinct when he scooped up a handful of sand that he threw in the larger man's eyes. Vendra didn't waste time wondering why one of his brother's men intended to kill him. While Goran stumbled back, rubbing furiously at his face, Vendra used the momentum of his motion to leap forward, landing a solid blow in Goran's belly.

Vendra hadn't meant for Mistress Snippy or Pest to attack the man, either, but the two fire lizards, obviously distressed by Goran's attempt at murder, flew at the man, chittering and hissing in anger. The fact that a deep gully opened up behind him had been no doing of Vendra's at all. Goran plunged backward, still lashing out wildly while he fell almost a dragon length. He landed with a sickening thump on a bed of stones next to the small river that they had been following.

The unexpectedness of the attack had Vendra's pulse thrumming in his ears and his skin felt too tight. _That was too close. I'm getting sloppy._

All around him the verdant growth seethed with life of many kinds, all sound heaving together in a clamour. Sunlight flashed off Misstress Snippy's golden hide as she winged back to Vendra, her claws catching painfully on his shoulder when she landed. Pest tried to follow suit and he suddenly found himself in the midst of a raging, flapping battle for ownership.

"Gerroff me! Argh!"

The gold answered his outburst by tightening her tail around his neck and the green latched onto his left arm, hissing, while digging in her claws so that they broke skin.

"Stop that! Both of you!" Both lizards flashed images of the broken body lying in the stones with its arms splayed, their alarm at the entire sorry business still fresh.

_They're feeding off my fright._

Breathing deeply, he tried to clear his mind. "It's all right girls, calm down, _shhhhhhhh_."

Pest chirruped a query, her eyes still whirling orange but both settled. Vendra's knees felt as if they'd cave in.

Now why would Dravven want to off him? What if sending Vendra on his own with Goran had been a ploy just to …

Vendra stopped in his tracks, undecided. Part of him wanted to rush back down the mountainside at breakneck speed to confront Dravven.

_That would be stupid. If you go back alive, without Goran, then he'll know.__ You need some time to think, first._

As if to confirm his suspicions, Mistress Snippy hissed. What about the plunder, then? If Goran had succeeded, then only Dravven would have known where they'd stored their take from the last raid. Unless …

Very real panic settled on Vendra and he ran, up the rest of the slope. He didn't want to stop but had to, his lungs burning and chest heaving from his exertions. When the black spots receded from his vision, he pushed on again, the two fire lizards voicing their opinions loudly at his obvious distress.

From the greenery he reached an empty scar in the landscape, where a recent eruption from the volcanic cone rising above, had created a thick crust of black lava to cut away a swathe of vegetation. Small pieces crumbled beneath his boots while he pelted across, his eyes fixed on the small white cloth still attached to a dead tree.

When he reached the other side, to plunge back in among the trees, he quickly found the path that he sought.

_Dravven had been away for three sevendays. He said he'd sailed to Packtail Rocks but he was lying, wasn't he?__ There were two men missing from the crew. How can I be so stupid?_

He found the clearing easily enough, although it was more overgrown with bushes since the last time he'd been here. The small cottage's roof had caved in even more and a wall had collapsed in a scattering of roughly shaped volcanic rock. Inside, in the hearth, where the chest should have been, was an empty space.

Vendra let loose a howl, which Pest and Mistress Snippy echoed with their own versions. Then, he swore, and set about kicking at broken furniture that scattered the floor. He only stopped when Mistress Snippy sent him the visual of a loose beam up in the ceiling that moved alarmingly when he kicked the wall.

With a last growl, he stomped outside, the two lizards flying up to the rotted shingles of the roof. Another thought struck him while he sat here. He whistled for Mistress Snippy, who chirruped, then launched herself to his up-stretched arm. Her eyes whirled green tinged with yellow while she regarded him.

Closing his eyes, Vendra visualised the slim image of _Morry's Friend_, remembering how she bobbed in the calm waters of the unnamed bay in which she was moored.

"Go, take a look. Then come back. Show me what you see." He reinforced the command by restating the image, until little lizard gave affirmation.

The little queen chittered, tensing before she leapt to the air, disappearing between in a flash. Pest lurched to the air, intending to follow, so he called her down. She scolded him but obeyed, taking the prime perch of Vendra's shoulder now that her larger clutchmate was gone.

Vendra held his breath, counting. "One golden dragon, two golden dragons, three golden dragons … eight golden dragons …"

When he reached sixteen golden dragons, Mistress Snippy exploded into the clearing, her eyes whirling orange.

She flew around the house twice before attaching herself to his other shoulder, her eyes whirling orange and red. Vendra sent what he hoped was calming thoughts her way.

"Come now my pretty. What did you see? You can show me."

The images he saw were of an empty bay.

"The sharding fool!" Vendra roared, leaping to his feet and dislodging both fire lizards. "May the bloodfish take you and the shipfish shun you!"

Of all the fates Vendra had imagined, he'd never thought that his own kin would maroon him on a deserted isle, far off the usual shipping routes.

"No, no," you couldn't just murder me on the ship, could you? You had to make it look like an accident. How much did you pay the crew to carry your version of the story, eh? And, when Goran didn't come back at the appointed time, you _knew_, didn't you? And you got scared. That's why you ran, you fool. Of all the …"

Vendra swore for almost an entire candle mark while his two fire lizards watched him from the relative safety of the ruined cot's roof.

XXX

A/N: Thank you to those of you who have read and reviewed so far. I'm writing this story to practice balancing out conflicting character goals and to create better sub-plots, as a writing exercise to help improve my original fiction. It is of utmost importance to me to know when you like or dislike something.


	4. Eidri

Disclaimer: Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey

_**Disclaimer:**__ Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine, please do not use them without my permission._

_Thank you to everyone who've read and reviewed. Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me!_

X

The last thing that Eidri expected was a hand closing on the back of her tunic and a gruff voice exclaiming, "Ah-ha! Got the little tunnel snake at last!"

Her blood wanted to curdle with the fright and her skin went cold. With a grunt, Journeyman Merchant Tallisar hefted her out from between the bales of wool in the cargo hold of the cog _Sea Foam_. Eidri's instincts warred with her logic. _There's no place to run_.

She slackened in his grasp, allowing him to drag her up the steep stairs that led to the deck. Eidri had been so busy listening to the slap of the waves on the hull and the low voices of the two apprentices searching for her in the opposite end of the hold that she'd not thought to listen out for the man who'd most likely instigated the search.

_He must have noticed the missing stores._

Tallisar was anything but gentle, and he knocked her head against the rim of the hatch. The sunlight blinded her and she brought her hands up to protect her face. The air outside was almost as hot and muggy as inside the cargo hold and she was dropped to the deck. Feet scuffed the deck around her and she was soon encircled by curious crew.

A shadow fell across her and Master Merchant Denmer's voice boomed out. "Aye, and what have we here?"

"It's the little sneaking vermin who's been a'nibbling at our stores, sir." _Gotcha._

Tallisar's boot nudged her in the ribs and she crouched down, her arms held protectively over her head. People sniggered. She squinted at the sun-bleached wood and held her breath, expecting a blow that would near stun her.

"Oi! Get back to work, you lazy layabouts! This isn't a matter for deck-hands," Denmer shouted and the scuffle that ensued informed her that the man's will had been enforced.

"Now, boy, you look up at the master of this vessel and speak your name."

_This is it. Now I'm in big trouble._ If they discovered that she was female, there was no telling what could go wrong. Women weren't generally welcome on Southern cogs but she hadn't had a choice. It was either stow away on _Sea Foam_, or wait another two sevendays for the next opportunity, in which case it may have been too late and she would have been forced to return to the Harper Hall.

Trying to control her shaking, Eidri raised her head to look up into the bearded face of Master Merchant Denmar. "Drindoran." _I'm not my brother but these men don't know that._

She stole a look up at Tallisar, who frowned back at her, his fingers playing with the beaded fringes of his waist sash. Red was the colour beholden to Monaco Bay. These were more law-abiding merchant lords, old blood; no smuggler or raider blots on their records.

"P-p-please don't hurt me."

Denmar grumbled. "How far are we from that island chain?"

"Half a day, Master Denmar," Tallisar replied.

"Good. Well, tie him to the mast and we'll drop him within swimming distance. I'm not taking on stowaways."

"But… that's…" she started to bluster, starting to rise.

"Silence!"

Denmer leant down until his piercing grey eyes were level with hers. Then he said in a deadly quiet voice. "You can swim, can't you?"

"I-I…"

"Well, I'm sure you'll learn quickly."

Tallisar spoke. "Found these down there with his things." He handed Denmar a small pouch.

_Shards! My marks!_

Master Merchant Denmar's brow furrowed into a furious scowl as he reached into the pouch, withdrawing the half-dozen marks. "Harper hall. A veritable wealth here – too much for someone of your age and obvious lack of status. If there's one thing I hate more than a stowaway, it's a runaway apprentice and a thief."

Tallisar said, "Perhaps we should take him to…"

"I'm not taking him anywhere!" Denmar roared, his face turning red. "I'd have put this creature off at first sight of land, now I'm even more tempted just to toss it overboard to let the shipfish decide its fate. Tie it up, where I can't see it! And gag it if it starts setting up a ruckus."

"Please, I can explain…" Eidri started. _No you can't, and you know that well enough, you stupid wherry-brained fool._

Her words were cut off when Tallisar gave her an almighty clout that had stars obscuring her vision.

"Shut up boy! We didn't ask you to speak."

Denmar turned abruptly to bellow an order. "Bordan! Trim that sail! Take in some slack! We don't want to get into irons." As if Eidri was of no more consequence, he strode off to the wheel, without a second glance.

Tallisar gave her no opportunities to reflect on her situation. His strong fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm and he hauled her to her feet.

"Shamti, fetch us some of that hempen cord, let's bind our tunnel snake like the good master merchant says."

"I…" she started but her objections got no further because he grabbed a hank of her hair, pulling her along so hard that tears sprung to her eyes.

"I'm not interested in discussing the merits of your situation. I follow orders. If you care whether we gag you or not, I'd suggest that you shut your filthy trap, _thief_. And, we can make sure to find the dirtiest rag dipped in bilge water, if you _don't_ care."

Eidri bit back her protestations. It would do no good to argue. She _was_ a thief. There was no denying that, _and_ she was a runaway apprentice. Instead she allowed Shamti – a burly man with close-cropped red hair – to lash her to the mask. He sneered at her and she was glad for the fact that she'd bound her breasts before attempting to stow away. _It would do no good if they got at me, now would it?_

She focused her attention on the horizon, on the line where the pale sky met the deeper blue of the sea. Eidri tried to block out the snide remarks, tried to ignore the way the cords were too tight, cutting off her circulation and the way that her muscles burnt before shooting pins and needles before going numb.

_I should have tried to put up with things at the Harper Hall for one more Turn. Maybe I would have made Journeyman status … and maybe whers would fly._

The cog made good progress. There was a moment of alarm when the lad in the lookout was convinced he saw the typical square-rigged sail that could belong to a raider longship but when nothing came of this, the crew relaxed again. _As if raiders would save me. They'd sooner slit my throat._

_It is as if I don't exist. I was a moment of excitement and now they're just carrying on._

Eidri's eyes prickled but she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. _Only girls cry. _She'd already been at sea for a sevenday, having sneaked on board at Windy Bay Hold and had hoped that she could keep hidden until they reached the islands or, even the Southern Continent.

_Look on the bright side, they didn't toss me overboard immediately. What island chain?_

She tried to recall her lessons but could not recall any island chain, unless they were much further south than she'd initially thought.

… _volcanic archipelagos favoured by raiders due to their isolation and the summer storms that make for treacherous navigation …_

Master Harper Brentig's dry voice echoed in her memories. Geographical studies had been her least favourite subject and she'd constantly gotten into trouble.

"But why must a harper know about islands that no one will ever visit?" she'd asked.

"It is a harper's business to know more than her scales or how to restring her gitar," the old man had replied.

A low chuckle escaped her lips. Well, of all the sharding things, she was about to discover first-hand. _It's better than hoping for a pod of dolphins to be in attendance if they turf me overboard now._

Eidri must have slipped into a fitful sleep, for she suddenly came to her full attention when someone began to fiddle with her bonds.

"What? Where?" Utterly confused, she looked about. Shamti busied himself with the knots, a look of concentration distorting his features.

"You're about to take a dunking , lad. Jus' so that ya know, we're a bit closer to land than we'd usually do for your kind."

"You call _that_ close to land?" she croaked. In the distance, so far that she could barely make out the waves breaking on the reef, rose the cone of a volcano, its side furred with greenery. _This has to be some sort of sick joke!_

She struggled against him but her arms were numb and Eidri only succeeded in falling against the railing, winding herself.

"Please!" she wheezed. _No one can swim so far and survive!_

The master merchant was nowhere to be seen and Tallisar stood up on the bridge, his arms folded and his expression grim. "Into the drink with the thief!" he ordered.

"Aye!" Shamti replied, his meaty arms closing around her as he lifted her over the railing. His breath stank of old meat but that was soon the least of her worries.

It all happened so quickly. The water rushed up to meet her, dark and forbidding. The last thing she saw before the shock of the cold near stole her breath was the silhouetted figures of some of the crew leaning over the railings.


	5. The Search

_**Disclaimer:**__ Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine, please do not use them without my permission._

_Thank you to everyone who've read and reviewed. Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me!_

X

"Hai Jarraden!" a voice called.

Jarraden stopped immediately, squinting about in the bright light to track the source of the voice. He shaded his hands against the sun to look up the stairs leading to Lord Jossian's Hall where a figure bounded down toward him.

The girl's dredded auburn locks, decorated with numerous beads and shiny bits, marked her as belonging to one of the Far Western Continent merchant families and it took him a moment to place her. _Kesbara._

His initial reserve gave way to pleasure. "Kesbara!" He hugged her fiercely, breathing in the scent of resin, salt and spices that he'd come to associate with her. "It's been…"

"Too long!" she finished for him, pulling back to grin at him. "Since Turnover."

"Serious? That long?"

She nodded. "So, you're not normally brave or stupid enough to go into the sun so close to noon. Where're you off to?"

"The Arbour." He gestured in the vague direction of the trees.

Kesbara laughed. "Since when did _you_ have your nose out of the books long enough to be interested in dragons?"

"A green's here on Search from Shipwreck Weyr. They've asked that I go down for her to see if I'm any good. Then, I expect I'll go back to my documents. It's a waste of time, really."

"Oh. _That's_ interesting, didn't quite see you as the type."

"I didn't either," Jarraden conceded. "Now let's get out of the sun before we turn as red as a boiled spine-claw."

Kesbara grinned, linking her arm with his. Jarraden felt vaguely flattered that a Master Merchant's daughter would be so companionable with him. He'd missed her visits during the time when her father's fleet had been placed under ban.

_Smugglers__,_ he thought. No. _Suspected smugglers._ There hadn't been any concrete proof. Just allegations, although allegations were all it took nowadays to ruin a perfectly good reputation.

They walked the remaining steps down to the Gather grounds while Kesbara nattered on about her voyage. Jarraden listened without paying full attention. Instead, he stared at the green dragon that reclined on the close-cropped green grass, her wings spread out to catch the sun.

_Shards! She's a lot bigger than I thought.__ The larger colours must be enormous._

The beast stretched sinuously, her eyes closed in evident pleasure, although she held her head aloft, quite clearly poised; alert to any shifts in her environment. Her hide was a dark, forest green that gleamed over taut muscles.

_Not an inch of spare flesh. She is beautiful. _

_Why, thank you,_ a voice spoke in his head.

Jarraden froze, almost yanked off his feet by Kesbara.

"What's your problem?"

"I … Uh …"

"You're standing there like a sun-struck wherry. Let's get in the shade."

"I think the dragon spoke to me."

Kesbara's eyes widened. "Oh, aye." Then she laughed, turning toward the green dragon with an extravagant bow. "Good day, fair Esdrith. You are a most rapturous shade of green today."

"You know her name?" Jarraden stammered.

"Yes, wherry-brain. Her rider would be my mother's cousin, Suli. How would I not recognise family? Esdrith has a set of small white marks at the base of her throat when she got in a scrap with one of her clutch-mates. See."

The dragon rumbled deep in her throat and Jarraden swallowed but he sensed no anger. Esdrith's eyes whirled shades of sapphire. Now that he took a proper look, he saw the scars Kesbara pointed at, pale smudges against the hide in the shape of a narrow bite.

"C'mon," Kesbara tugged his arm, hard, and he had no choice but to follow her over the intervening distance to the shade where a number of folk already sought shelter from the heat.

Momentarily sunblind, Jarraden knuckled his eyes to adjust to the sudden shift to the shade. Already half the hold's youngsters milled about, congregating around the long table where drudges served cooled water flavoured with chopped herbs. The dragonwoman was hard to miss, surrounded by eager children pestering her with questions. He could see some family resemblance in the olive skin and auburn hair but where Kesbara stood tall – already half a head taller than Jarraden, the dragonrider was short and fine-boned.

She spoke with as much animation as Kesbara, he noted with a wry smile, and when the two females spied each other, they greeted each other with much enthusiasm.

"Kessie!" the rider laughed when her cousin swung her about.

"Suli!"

People stood back, some muttering. _Interesting, so Kesbara's not as welcome as her family should be._

As he was wont to, Jarraden slipped into the background, making himself as unobtrusive as possible. He'd never much cared for too many people. _Well, not the living, anyway._

Somehow, the distance the archives gave him, speaking of different ages, sometimes almost thousands of years ago, held far more interest. _Time has a wonderful way of stripping away all the distractions; all the petty emotions._

After half a candlemark, all the hold's youngsters had congregated, ranging in ages from eleven to sixteen Turns. Jarraden counted two-score, in total. Lord Jossian came down and personally greeted the dragonwoman, treating her with almost the same courtesy he normally reserved for Craftmasters, standing next to her while he spoke for a few moments about the honour those assembled would bring to Redfin Seahold, should they be successfully Searched.

_More like a bloody nuisance if they're already apprenticed,_ Jarraden thought.

But, Jossian had good cause to feel kindness toward dragonriders. A Turn previously, a brownrider had flown an emergency mission to take Lord Jossian's wife to a better-equipped Healer Hall when she'd faced a difficult delivery. This was indeed an honour bestowed upon a hold as small as Redfin.

Kesbara stood to one side by the refreshments table and smiled at him when he met her gaze. She gave him a thumbs-up and he grimaced. Trust her to think of this as a lark. He looked at the dragon again, who'd risen to a crouch, her wings furled and her eyes tinged with the green of keen interest.

"Okay, guys, line up, please, so that Esdrith can come and have a good look at each of you," Suli said. Jossian stepped back, conferring with Headwoman Harleen. Obviously they discussed the rag-tag collection of youngsters.

Jarraden found himself jostled by the bigger boys, who were more than obvious in their intent to be the first ones considered. _Most likely they'd make good bronzeriders._

He sighed and took his place next to Lenica and Dalja, Lenedal's twin daughters, who did him the favour of ignoring him. _Girls._

What are the chances, really? Perhaps one, or two maybe, if chosen, if any. Even Jossian's eldest daughter, Jollian stood. _No doubt a candidate for the queen egg, if there is one._

"C'mon Esdrith, you can come forward," Suli called. "No need to be frightened, she ain't gonna bite you."

Esdrith shuffled forward with that peculiar, clumsy gait common to dragons on land. _If dragons could smile._ Two of the bigger boys took a step back when the green approached them and Jarraden struggled to keep a grin from twitching to his lips.

She paused before each potential candidate for a few heartbeats and Jarraden couldn't help but hold his breath as she came closer.

"The little blond boy, he can step forward."

_That's Harleen's grandson!_ The small boy, whose face was quite dirty, and who could be no more than eleven Turns, stepped forward, beaming.

Behind him, Harleen gasped. Jarraden did not turn around. His own gut knotted and his palms were suddenly wet. _Why are you getting excited, fool? You're nothing special. This is the kind of stuff that happens to other people. You're just going to be disappointed._

Esdrith came closer and closer. She stopped for longer than usual before Dalja and Jarraden was certain the girl would be chosen. He caught the spicy scent of the dragon and, before he could think of anything else, he found himself drowning in the dragon's coruscating eyes. Shades of azure filled his awareness with a gentle probing. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to smile.

_Yes, this one,_ a familiar voice spoke.

"That skinny red-head with the braid, he can step forward," said Suli.

Jarraden gasped, not quite comprehending. _You've been Searched, wherry-brain._

Esdrith had already moved to the next potential candidate and Jarraden found himself obeying the dragonwoman, his mind spinning with the implications.

_I've been Searched. Lenedal's going to kill me!_

However, the day delivered its next shock when the green decided that Kesbara should be included in the number of Candidates. His friend had the good grace to turn pale, a look of unutterable horror flashing across her features, before she stepped back and crashed away through the undergrowth, in the direction of the harbour.

Jarraden's immediate predicament seemed to pale in significance when he pondered what Master Merchant Baraloss would have to say about this latest, and rather unexpected, development.


	6. Duty

Disclaimer: Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey

_**Disclaimer:**__ Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine, please do not use them without my permission._

X

Kesbara's stomach lurched. What would her father say? She ran from the gathering at the Arbour, intent on putting as much distance between herself, Suli and the dragon as possible.

Yes, so Suli had always said that Esdrith thought she'd make a good rider; could even stand as a Candidate for the Queen egg, if there happened to be one on the sands at the time but, for the families of the Far Western Continent, where there wasn't even a Weyr present. There were always implications when one of the Westerners tied themselves to a particular Weyr or, Aivas forbid, a foreign hold. But words were only words and this was the first time she'd been the right age for a Search and these words had been uttered _at_ a Search – different entirely from words spoken in the passing between family, over a cup of _klah_.

It had been quite the scandal when Suli had taken off with that bluerider, only to return a Turn-and-a-half later astride her own green. Now Suli was suggesting that _she_, the daughter of a Master Merchant, give up her birthright on the off-chance that she, herself, may one day fly?

Her father hadn't given her express instructions as to what she should do with herself after she'd delivered the message roll to Lord Jossian, but he'd be less than pleased to know that she'd been talking to Suli. Any other greenrider may not have been so much of an issue but Suli was another matter entirely.

_I am going to be in so much trouble…_

Master Merchant Baraloss was not at Harbour Master Delrossian's office. The lad who shuffled papers at the desk simply shrugged and eyed her with a blank look. A fresh surge of panic flooded Kesbara's system. She had to find a way to control the damage.

She rehearsed lines she could try: _I didn't know it was Suli until I got there. I met an old friend and was waiting for him to finish being Searched. I went to go take a look and got Searched by mistake._

All her suggestions sounded stupid. Her father would be angry at the inconvenience. He'd be angry that she'd just run off after delivering the message. He'd be angry because she'd been there at the Search in the first place. He'd be angry that Suli couldn't shut her mouth. Baraloss would be angry about a dozen things that were clearly not within his control but he'd be angry with Kesbara, because that would give him some sort of focus, give him someone to blame squarely.

"Have you seen the Master Merchant?" Kesbara asked Essar, once she arrived where _The Windward Lass_ was moored at the quay. She didn't see any sign of the rest of the crew and assumed that they'd be at the Rest Hall down by the river mouth.

Essar smiled broadly at her, laying down the scrubbing brush. He'd obviously not heard about what had just happened. "No, me lass. He was up there by Master Kolman jus' half a candlemark before. Ye haven't seen him up at the big house?"

She shook her head and bit her lip, mentally ticking off places that her father would visit. After Kolman he'd usually drop in at the Harper Hall. He'd wait for Jossian to summon him before going to the Lord Holder. Kesbara groaned.

"What's wrong lass?" Essar asked.

"Nothing, Essar. Nothing much." Damn it! Master Harper Targullan would know everything, and so, by now, would her father.

Even as this stray thought flashed through her mind, a chittering above her that followed a soft decompression, announced the arrival of one of her father's browns, Creeler. The firelizard wheeled above her in a most agitated state, scolding her and sending her flashes of her father's livid face.

_I'm in for it now._

"Where must I find him, you stupid flit?" She tried to project images of her father.

The firelizard alighted twenty paces from her, fanning its wing membranes. She knew this game all too well.

"Fine, I'll follow you."

Essar chuckled. "We haven't even been here a candlemark and the old man is already short of temper. What did you do this time?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Kesbara replied, with more sharpness than she intended.

Essar laughed and resumed his scrubbing.

Kesbara turned her back on the man and padded after Creeler, who waited until she almost had him in grabbing distance, before taking off and settling on a landmark twenty paces down the way. The small stones that layered the road bit into her feet, which were only used to the smooth deck of a ship. She adjusted her head scarf and smoothed down her tunic, checking that her belt knife was straight. It would do her no good to approach her father if she looked as dishevelled as she felt.

Thoughts she'd tried to hold down for Turns came to the fore. Yes, she was happy with her life at sea. It was the only life she'd lived but who among her generation did not dream of one day being paired with a dragon? All those stories she'd grown up on, of gallant dragonriders who'd come to the rescue at the last possible moment when ships were at sea … of the handsome dragonmen who turned out to be the father of the heroine, returned to save her from a life of drudgery, to whisk her off to a mysterious Weyr …

Stories! All of them! Her mother had shelves of volumes dedicated to romances involving dragonmen, ladies with heaving bosoms and tales of derring-do and excitement.

She'd heard, often enough, of Western lads who'd snuck off, ostensibly to be Searched, who had ended up as drudges when no dragon hatched wanting them. Too ashamed to return to the West, they'd eked out miserable lives as failures bonded to foreigners. This was no fate for a proud Westerner!

_We've been isolated for such a long time after the plagues, we've never been beholden to anyone. Why must we start now?_

However, stories still held an allure, even though Kesbara had tried to convince herself that sailing an entire fleet was preferable.

Her father met her halfway to the Healer Hall. She could almost imagine dark storm clouds swarming above his head. Baraloss' mood preceded him. Kesbara winced.

"What were you thinking?" he said, slipping his arm into hers so that she was forced to fall into step with him. He wasn't shouting, yet.

"I wasn't …"

"You _weren't _thinking, that's what," he finished for her.

"I didn't mean …"

"Kesbara, if you are to attain your Mastery in this profession, you need to use the head you were born with."

"I just thought I'd go along with Jarraden to see if he'd be Searched. I didn't think…"

"Oooooh. Child! You're _still_ not thinking. I sometimes wonder if you're my daughter after all. You know what _that_ woman's dragon has said about you. Now everyone knows. What are they going to say if you don't stand for Candicacy? What are they going to say about me? They'll think I'm a fool for refusing to let you stand. Or, if you refuse, they'll think you are ungrateful. And, think of the embarrassment if you go all the way and you don't Impress at all? The implications!"

"I-I won't go."

"You will."

She hadn't expected that he'd say _that_ and her blood ran cold. She'd hope that he'd agree with her, since he most likely suspected that she'd gone there on purpose. He hadn't said that yet but it was quite possibly on his mind.

"Don't look like you've swallowed a tunnel snake hatchling. Aivas knows I can't afford to lose you but we've only just worked out that black mark. If you don't go, it will look like a snub. If you Impress, however, it can only serve to work in our advantage in the long run. I'll have to make do without you for now, perhaps train up Kesti's cousin in the meanwhile. The boy is almost of age."

"You're always thinking about what's good for the sharding family! What about what _I_ want?"

He stopped midstride, strong hands grabbing her on either side of her arms to pull her toward him. Baraloss' grey eyes bored deep into her own. "What did you just say?"

"I said that you're never considering what _I_ want!"

Fingers pressed down deep into flesh, sending shooting pains that numbed her hands.

"It's never about what _you_ want. It's time that you learn that. Yes, they say that I'm overly indulgent raising you into a position where your brothers already serve a more than ample role, Kesbara, but this family is _all_ we've got. See these islanders, the people up on the mainlands … they don't have what we have, the freedom of the seas; the opportunities to come and go as we please. But, we don't have a Lord Holder telling us how to live, when to sow … to make sure that we get Healers if there's an outbreak or making a deal with another Lord if there's a bad harvest. All we have is each other.

"They despise us, Kesbara. They don't trust us. They spit on our names behind our backs, call us smugglers or accuse us of being raiders, if given half a chance, yet they don't miss an opportunity to swindle us when we do put down anchor near land. Just because our wealth isn't tied to dry earth doesn't mean that we aren't lord holders in our own right.

"The family stays together. Get that in your head!"

Her ears rung. Creeler flapped down to land on her father's shoulder, his little eyes whirling with fiery motes. Brown Raki landed on her father's other shoulder, chittering with dismay. All other sound seemed to dampen around her.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, Kesbara. I'm angry that this complication has happened so soon after we've been able to secure some of our old trade routes but it can't be helped. We don't need any surprises right now. Damn Suli and her meddling. I need you, daughter. We'll find a way to make this work but right now, you're going to help Essar to scrub the sides of the _Lass_. There's far too much algae growth on the hull."


	7. From the sea

_**Disclaimer:**__ Pern and its dragonriders belong to Anne McCaffrey. Original characters are mine. Please do not use them without my permission._

_Apologies for the long delay in updates. I've been extremely busy with work and also writing my third original novel and starting my fourth. I've got other fanfics bubbling away in my head so I need to get these out of my system._

X

Pest saw the sails first and set up a mad chittering that had Miss Snippy flashing about. Within a heartbeat, both fire-lizards sent him the visuals of the triangular sails of a southern cog. Vendra had been busy collecting fibres on the lower slopes near the abandoned cottage and was quite a way from the beacon he'd been building.

He rushed to the heights where he'd piled the brushwood but by the time he'd reached the lower of the peaks, out of breath and scraped from a dozen falls, the sails were so distant that lighting a signal fire would be an unutterable waste, even if he could get his flint to strike a spark at the first attempt.

"It's no use, my pretties," he muttered.

Miss Snippy landed on his arm, her little claws digging into his skin and she let out a miserable cheep. He stroked her soft hide and sighed, sitting down to lean against the mountain of brush and driftwood. It had taken him the better part of a sevenday to drag the fuel up here, time that could have been better spent foraging for food. If it weren't for his two pets bringing him food, he'd have starved.

What Vendra needed was for a ship to put in, at the cove where the island's only stream brought fresh water to meet the salt water when it ran into a modest lagoon. A kind of redfruit tree grew in dense stands along the watercourse and perhaps other sailors knew of this food source. _And maybe watchwhers would fly to my rescue._

There was no helping his situation but patience. Down by the crescent beach he'd seen signs of old lean-tos, so perhaps this nameless lump of rock did play safe haven to someone from time to time other than errant Smallheart clan members hiding ill-gotten gains. Vendra thought back to some of his kinsmen's tales, some of whom had ended up living for up to a Turn marooned on an island.

_I could do with a shave._ He rubbed at his stubble that threatened to grow into a bristling beard.

"C'mon, girls, let's go down to the beach. Tide will be out soon. Who knows what we'll find for the taking."

He got up and took the well-worn path down to the cove, wincing at his protesting limbs. That run had taken more of his energy than he'd hoped. Men had starved from a diet of protein alone and he fancied that his muscles had already started wasting away. On top of that, he'd torn his tunic at the shoulder and did not have thread or needle for the repairs.

_There's that old __romance of Cedrin the Mad who lived alone on a small island for almost twelve turns. When they found him, he'd fashioned clothes out of the flightless wherry-like creature that lived on the island and his beard was down to his navel. His shoes were fashioned from woven fibres and he could hardly speak. He'd learnt to enjoy baking tunnel snakes and even ate crawler grubs._

Vendra shuddered. If – no, _when_ – he got back to civilisation, he'd make his brother pay in blood for this ordeal. The worst part of being out here was being alone. Yes, the island was pretty enough but what use was enjoying the azure water that broke beyond the reef and the white sands when you had no one to talk to? There was only so much that he could say to his two pets, who'd found a wild fair of their own to socialise with. His black moods had them off with their brethren more often than not.

He paused to drink some water from the stream then walked down on the verge of the small lagoon, noting where spineclaws had made new burrows. If his greedy fire-lizards didn't scoff these down, he could persuade them to tease a few of the critters out for him. The meat would be succulent if he steamed it. _To think that Lords Holder pay good marks for this delicacy that is within easy reach for me so that I soon tire of eating it._

This thought failed to bring a smile to his face. Here he was for yet another day, with escape so close, yet so far. Vendra walked to the point where the breakers passed the reef to smash against the black volcanic rocks in the wider bay next to the cove. _I suppose it's a good thing that I'm not here during some sort of eruption, the sort this island chain is known for._

Vendra grimaced, his eyes creating jagged geometric patterns that shifted on the horizon. Whenever he stared too long at a flat surface his eyes would always paint in detail that wasn't there. And, he'd have plenty of staring to do when he wasn't looking for food. Aivas forbid that he still sat on this rock by the time the summer storms arrived. He would have to seek shelter and lay in stores – a thought that troubled him for the storm season was but a month away and the worst of the tempest could last for a sevenday or more, leaving him little time to forage.

After a while, the rocks began to hurt his behind, so he shifted his posture, rubbing absently at his rump. He returned his attention to the swell, noting how big the wave action was against the shore. That was when his eye caught the limp form of a person caught in the curve of a wave, who struggled against breakers. The person's strokes were weak and he got knocked under in a crash of foam.

_There's been a ship that sailed past without stopping. Now there's a person – a young boy by the looks of it – fighting to reach shore._

It didn't take Vendra a vast stretch of his imagination to figure out that the lad must have been cast overboard for some crime. _The seas are far too calm for someone to be washed into the drink. I can count the number of my kinsman shoved overboard for crimes, real or imagined, on both hands. Sharding merchants!_

Should he intervene? Drowning men were known to drag would-be rescuers down with them. Good sense warred with his instinct and memories of occasions where he, too, had narrowly escaped near-drowning, albeit in less ill-considered situations. No one had ever accused Vendra Smallheart of being a petty thief on board a vessel.

"Shard it!" Vendra swore, sending out a mental call for his two fire-lizards. The least they could do was keep an eye out for him. He shrugged out of his tunic and kicked off his shoes, wincing as he stepped on sharp rocks.

_Hang on in there, lad,_ he willed the boy. His stomach lurched when he saw the boy struggle again in the curve of another swell, his head barely reaching out of the water. _You know all too well how tired you get, don't you?_

Vendra leapt from rock to rock until he could safely wade into the surf. The lad should be lucky he hadn't been caught in a current that would drive him against the reef, although given ill fortune he would soon meet with the jagged teeth that guarded this stretch of coast. _At least the water's warm and there shouldn't be any treacherous currents to drag us both out to sea._

Years of body-surfing the waves of assorted Eastern Ring islands had made Vendra as comfortable on land as he was in the water. Where were the dolphins today when he needed them? They would have guided the lad to shore without his having to take a risk.

He dived beneath a wave, coming up for air to take stock of his surroundings. Above him, Miss Snippy and Pest popped out from _between_ and he sent them a visual of the lad's feeble struggles. _Find him, hurry!_

For a moment the pair hovered then moved to Vendra's left. He plunged beneath another breaker with practiced ease, flexing his body so that he made himself as streamlined as possible. Returning with a dead weight would not be fun.

Pest greeted him when he broke the surface, her eyes whirling red-orange. He followed the fire-lizard, ducking beneath two more waves before he saw the boy, who lashed toward him even as they made eye contact. Vendra took a deep breath and lurched forward, grabbing the youngster firmly in the crook of his arm so that the boy couldn't catch him in the stranglehold that would send them both to the bottom.

"Don't struggle! Let me do the work!" Vendra managed to shout as a wave crashed down upon them.

For a moment he thought he'd lose his grip as the boy thrashed and he wasn't certain which way was up or down until his feet touched the sand and he pushed them both up.

_Don't ever panic,_ his father's voice reminded him and Vendra held onto his lessons, flowing with the rush of water until he broke to the surface. Despite the boy's weight, he swam with powerful strokes, keeping his left arm free to help him maintain an even keel. The fire-lizards creeled above, encouraging him with visuals. Only half a dragonlength to go…

When the next swell reached them, the wave had only started cresting, so Vendra tightened his body so that he could ride it, silently praising the seemingly endless drills he and his cousins had endured with the Dolphineers.

_No Smallheart drowns in my fleet,_ his father had said.

There was one bad turn when another wave dumped them and the world exploded into a static of stirred-up sand and a tumult of water. Then his knees grazed the sand and Vendra was able to right himself in chest-deep water, dragged toward the next wave as water ran out. The lad had stopped struggling, his eyes closed and form limp.

_Shards! I hope he hasn't breathed in too much water!_

Vendra counted his mercy mission in waves, bracing himself for every deluge until, his limbs suddenly heavy, he staggered onto the beach proper and could drag the boy to the high tide mark.

Only then did he allow himself to collapse, heaving for air next to the boy's still body. Pest and Miss Snippy hovered, their eyes whirling in shades of alarm. For once, the hot sun felt good on his skin. _I'm a man, not a fish!_

"I'm safe!" Vendra gasped. "Thank you, my pretties." He filled his thoughts with gratitude and Miss Snippy chirruped before landing on a piece of driftwood. Pest alighted on the sand, tilting her fine, wedge-shaped head as she queried. Concern for the youngster was evident but both of his fire-lizards were calming down, with more green showing in their eyes than yellow.

Vendra pushed a limp strand of hair over his shoulder. The boy curled over onto his side, coughing up great gouts of water.

"Hai! Are you okay?" Vendra asked. _Of course he's not okay, don't be daft!_

He thumped the boy's back, hoping that he expelled as much water as possible. "You're on dry land, you'll be okay."

The youngster pushed himself into a crouching position. Had he been injured before being thrown overboard? His shirt had been torn during their struggles and he had bandages wound tight around his chest. Vendra didn't see any blood but imagined that breathing could not be asy.

"Here, you can't breathe properly with those on," Vendra said, feeling for his belt knife in order to cut through the fabric. He lifted the remains of the youngster's shirt despite his protestations and slipped the point of the blade beneath the linen.

A fresh bout of coughing seized the boy and he crouched over. Then he sat up and Vendra was struck by the profound realisation that he'd not rescued a boy. Small, we-rounded breasts pressed against tattered fabric that the youngster pressed against her chest, the areoles dark against the sodden material, her eyes wide with horror.


End file.
